


Deep Sleep

by Sequesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Case Fic, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Narcolepsy, Not Canon Compliant, This is a late-seasons type thing, actually i changed my mind, much as it fucking kills me to put that tag there, somewhere in the realm of Eileen being there, supernatural is my city now i dont care if its canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sequesters/pseuds/Sequesters
Summary: Dean and Castiel stumble into a case while out on a hunter's shopping trip, finding themselves tailing a guy who sets the EMF reader going haywire. When they follow him into a LGBT support group, it is a spur-of-the-moment decision for them to pretend to be a couple, just so they can blend in.But then, as the case progresses, this decision means that they have to...keep up the act.That's okay, right? It's just for the case, of course.Just for the case.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Deep Sleep

“Okay. So.”

Dean held up three fingers to Cas as they walked out of the Bait ‘n Tackle--or more accurately, out of the hunter shop that used Bait ‘n Tackle as a front--and slotted neatly into the flow of downtown foot traffic.

“We got lamb’s blood, ash root blessed by a priest,” he said, tapping his index and middle fingers, “And Sam says he has the right oak dust at home. I think we can pack it up, and get our asses back to Lebanon-”

FWEEEEEEE-

Dean started as the noise of his EMF reader sung from inside his pocket.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he said, adjusting his bag of hunter groceries as he pulled the reader from his pocket, “What is it, boy? What do you see?”

He held it up like a stubborn, receptionless cell phone, turning in place until-

FWEEEEEEE-

Dean swallowed as he stepped carefully across the sidewalk, following the high-pitched trill of his reader like the world’s most dangerous game of Hot and Cold. The sound of an EMF spike always triggered a Pavlovian rush of adrenaline in him. Usually, _that_ specific whining frequency meant something like THE GHOST IS GOING TO KILL YOU RIGHT NOW WATCH OUT!!!

But he had already scanned their surroundings, and nothing shady appeared to be manifesting nearby. In fact, the source of the disturbance that he was slowly creeping up on was just...a regular guy.

Well, it _looked_ like a regular guy, anyway. Dean knew that wasn’t always a guarantee, but he had seen enough apparitions in his life to have at least a gut feeling of when he was looking directly at one. And this guy...this brown-haired, lightly-tanned, denim-jacket-wearing guy, he was just peering in the window at the store mannequins, close enough to fog the window with his breath. He looked pretty alive, in Dean’s personal opinion. 

But the EMF reader sure begged to differ.

“Cas,” Dean asked, ever-so-casually leaning against the brick storefront as he kept his eyes locked on target, “Does that guy in the jean jacket look human to you?”

Cas paused for a moment, presumably looking with his special-eyes or whatever the hell angels did.

“The man is not an apparition, if that’s what you are asking,” Cas finally said, matter-of-factly, “I perceive his soul to be human.”

“Can you ‘perceive’ why he’s got EMF out the wazoo, then?” Dean asked, slapping the side of the screaming reader to no avail.

“I don’t know what a ‘wazoo’ is,” Cas sighed, but Dean didn’t get the chance to explain. The guy just up and started power-walking into the downtown crowd, a disturbed look on his face.

“Shit,” Dean swore, jumping into a _very_ inconspicuous half-run, keeping his eyes on the sandy-brown back of his head as he weaved through the crowd.

“Dean, we need to get back to Sam-” Cas protested, picking up his pace to match.

“I don’t care, Cas,” Dean whispered, head ducked as he speed-walked, “That guy’s either a ghost, or he’s been spending a lot of time NEAR one. Either way, it’s worth checking out before we bounce.”

Dean wished that the guy was wearing like...a weird hat, or something more distinguishable than a denim jacket, because he slipped out of Dean’s sight four separate times-shit, now FIVE, where did he go-

Dean gasped as he caught a glimpse of him again, ascending the steps to the community center.

“He’s going into the building!” Dean whispered to Cas urgently, pulling at his trench coat as he barreled forward himself, “Go go go go-”

They both burst through the door at the same time, absolutely ruining the quiet of the lobby and turning every head in their direction.

Dean winced.

“Can I...help you, gentlemen?” asked the receptionist.

Dean’s eyes flickered over to the hallway, watching the man they were tailing disappear into a room.

Second door on the right, he mentally noted, striding up towards the reception desk with Cas on his heels.

“Hi, uh, we-we’re here for the uhm, the event,” Dean said, leaning on the desk with an apologetic smile at the woman behind it.

“The event?” she asked.

“Yeah, y’know, the one-” he gestured, “In uh. In that room. Second on the right.”

“You mean...the weekly LGBT support group?” she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Dean stuttered.

“W-w- _well_ , I-I-I mean-”

That’s when Cas grabbed his hand, and Dean simply froze in shock.

“Yes,” Cas was saying, “That is what we are here for.”

“Okay, great,” she said, returning to professionalism, “Just sign in here-”

Dean stared stupidly at the clipboard and pen she placed in front of them, blood pounding in his ears. Cas was just. Holding his hand. Holding his goddamn hand!!!

Dean was still trying to blink his way back to a coherent thought, which was stymied by the fact that Cas’ hand was still _in his hand_ , fingers warm and intertwined with his...so Cas took mercy on all three of them and signed them in.

“Thank you, uh,” she checked the paper, “Adam. And Steve.”

Dean shot a look that said _really?_ at Cas, who just shrugged it off.

As they turned from the desk, Dean thought about pulling his hand back, perhaps even with a no-homo for good measure.

But man, he must be getting soft in his old age, because once the angel was touching him, he didn’t want him to...stop...touching him. He simply did not have the strength to pull away.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas inquired, slacking his hand ever so slightly.

“Y-yeah,” Dean said, giving him a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile, “That was a good, um. N-Nice thinking on the fly there, Cas.”

He took another breath, head dizzy and chest tingling from the _contact,_ and just kept rambling.

“I’m just not used to uh. Hm. This kinda thing. N-never been one for casual handholding,” he rambled, praying to any god that would listen for some divine intervention to help him _shut his fucking mouth._

Castiel didn’t answer, he just looked out in the distance, a look of contemplation on his face.

“That’s too bad,” he said, “I think it’s...nice.”

Dean choked a little at that.

“Let’s go, uh,” he said, clearing his throat, “S-See what information we can get with our uhm...cover.”

He squeezed Cas’ hand for emphasis, but the only effect that had was setting loose butterflies in his own stomach.

Fuck.

His little... _thing_ for Cas wasn’t something he liked to think about,for a litany of obvious reasons. But with his hand literally _in_ Cas’ hand right now, it was bubbling up like milk on the stove—faster than it had any right to, and making a huge mess of things.

And, God help him, it was so much worse when he finally let go.

-

He and Cas got a few looks as they joined the circle of chairs late, pretending to listen to a woman in overalls finish up a story about her college friends being homophobic.

Dean settled into the flimsy plastic chair with a breath. He could make it through this.

“I came out as bisexual to my little brother today,” began the next person.

Okay. Maybe he _couldn’t_ make it through this.

He saw Cas’ head tilt out of the corner of his eye, and realized he was white-knuckling the sides of the chair.

Dean forced himself to relax, and give Cas a quick thumbs-up.

“It went better than I expected, for sure,” the person continued, picking at a hole in their jeans, “Awkward, but things like that always are. I’m not really ready to get into the uh... _gender_ stuff with him yet, but...for now, I’m just glad we’re finally on the same page.”

“I’m happy for you, Ty,” smiled the guy they were tailing, “I was supposed to tell my dad today, but I...I chickened out.”

There were sympathetic noises from all around the circle.

“It’s alright, Darren,” Ty said back, reaching over and clapping him on the shoulder, “Your dad’s a weird little bastard.”

Cas snorted.

“They’re not wrong,” he acknowledged to the rest of the group with a tight smile, that disappeared in a flash.

“It’s weird, with my dad, because he-”

Darren swallowed.

“I don’t think he would ever get in an... _altercation_ with a random gay person, but...he wasn’t a fan, and he made that clear. He’d see feminine men on the street, and he would mention how _unwell_ they were, and ask me if I agreed-”

He shuddered.

“I’m-I’m not so good with people who won’t be direct with me,” he continued, laughing lightly without a trace of mirth, “I don’t know _what_ my dad’s thinking half the time, and that shit keeps me _awake_ at night. Was he being casually homophobic, or was he trying to _tell_ me something, y’know? Was he trying to bond with me, or was he trying to teach me a lesson?”

A memory flashed behind Dean’s eyes.

_I figure you could handle THIS one on your own, son-_

He gripped the chair.

“I felt like I was living with a time bomb,” Darren was saying, “It’s hard, not knowing where you stand with your own _father_.”

_You’re good at salt-and-burns, Dean. You’ll be fine. This one is right up your alley._

_Right up your alley._

_Right up your alley._

_Right up your alley._

And his mouth opened before he could stop himself.

“Uhm,” he said, swallowing hard as his voice came out as little more than a squeak.

“That,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Darren, “That kinda-that kinda happened to me too.”

His brain whirred with a million different thoughts. He can’t tell that story. He just _can’t_ . It was too huntery, for one. They’d never believe even half of it. For two, he swore that he would never even _think_ about his seventeenth birthday, ever again. Talking about it would mean _implying_ things, it would mean _admitting_ things, things that he was...well, things that he was keeping close to his chest.

But, he reconsidered, the damage was already done the moment he sat down in this flimsy little chair--hell, the moment Cas had taken his _hand_ at the reception desk. Their whole entire cover story _hinged_ on all these strangers believing he was gay, after all, and….and they just might understand. And, the story was bubbling up in his chest, ready to burst out _Alien_ -style whether he wanted it to or not. So maybe, with a little editing…

Fuck, everyone was _looking at him._

Say something!

“I...I should start from the beginning,” he said, rubbing his face with his hands, “My dad…”

He thought for a moment, mind racing, trying to find a suitable lie.

“My dad was a priest,” Dean lied, “The traveling sort. He was always getting calls from, from superstitious folk, who were-who _thought_ they were being haunted, to lay the spirits to rest. Taught me how, too. Family business, and all that.”

He smiled at the crowd, hoping his haphazardly sanitized version of events was enough to suspend their collective disbelief.

“Anyway. My old man wasn’t too big on birthdays. On my seventeenth…”

He cleared his throat.

“On my seventeenth, my present from him was my first solo job. Happy birthday, son, go out to this town where these nice old people are being haunted by some dead nuns, and deal with it.”

A few titters went through the crowd.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But the thing was…”

Dean paused, teetering on the edge of the meat of the story.

“Those nuns just _happened_ to be uh. Lovers. And they were caught. And they committed suicide, _because_ they were caught.”

The room sobered, like all the color had been sucked from it.

“My dad knew all of this, by the way. He did the research. Hell, he practically _gift wrapped_ this case for me.”

His leg was bouncing out of control.

“And right before I left...he told me that this case was _right up my alley._ ”

Darren in particular drew a breath at that. Dean looked away from his empathetic gaze.

“Now here’s the method, in case anybody needs to know,” he joked, pretending he wasn’t deadly serious, “You take the remnants of the bodies, or the clothes, or whatever you think is tying the spirit to this-to the earthly realm...and you dig it a little grave, you pour rock-salt all over it, and you set it on fire. It’s a whole little...ritual.”

Dean skipped over the part where the vengeful spirits almost killed him, and gave him a shiner for the next week. There was already too much truth in this story.

“Digging a grave takes work,” Dean said, “And time. Lots and lots of time, to think about how those poor bastards lived, and died, and to think...about what my dad said to me.”

Dean closed his eyes as the memory took over, feeling the rough handle of the shovel, the cold January air, the even colder pit of fear in his stomach, the way he relived every one of his incriminating gay moments and thoughts, wondering which was the _one_ that made John Winchester figure it all out-

He flinched as a hand touched his, but it was only Cas.

He re-centered himself, eyes open.

“I watched those bones burn until they were dust,” Dean spoke, hardly above a whisper. “And the wh-whole time, I just kept thinking. Am I crazy? Was it all a coincidence? Or did he... _know?_ ”

Dean took a deep breath, tears pricking at his eyes.

“My dad, is...he’s gone, now. And I _still_ don’t know where I stand.”

There was dead fucking silence.

Castiel was gripping his hand so tight it _hurt_.

“Wow,” said the moderator, “Thank you for sharing that, uh-”

“Dean,” Dean blurted, completely forgetting his fake name.

“Dean,” he repeated, “That was...that was a lot, for your first meeting.”

Dean nodded, blinking furiously.

And then...nothing happened. The support group moved on. Continued with other stories. No one gasped in shock at Dean Winchester, homo extraordinaire. To them,he was just another guy, with a kinda weird but ultimately familiar story. So he let himself fade into the background, letting the rest of the stories wash over him—stories of triumphs and defeats, relationships, good days and bad days.

Cas never let go of his hand.

When the meeting finally concluded, Dean stood up and decisively made a beeline for the coffee machine.

He shakily filled the little styrofoam cup with coffee. It tasted like AA meeting coffee, which wasn’t exactly bringing back fun memories. But the free coffee was the best part of these support groups, so he’d take what he could get.

Cas approached quietly from behind, and stood beside him.

Dean's heart was going nuts in his chest. Cas had been an anchor of strength during his story, but now that it was over he was being rudely reminded that Cas was also the guy he had a huge _crush_ on.

The guy he had just indirectly _come out to_.

How the hell was he gonna react?

His trenchcoat sleeve brushed Dean’s jacket sleeve, from shoulder to wrist. Dean tried to be normal about it.

“You never told me,” Cas said quietly.

“W-what?”

“About your birthday,” Cas said carefully, keeping his eyes on the coffeemaker, “About...about the nuns.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean swallowed, heart still racing, eyes flicking back and forth between the angel next to him, and the coffee in his hand, “It’s, ah. Not something I tell _anybody_.”

“In that case,” Cas said, looking back up, “I am honored, today, to receive that knowledge. I understand that it requires no small amount of trust, that I hope I am worthy of.”

Dean’s heart melted at the earnestness of it all, and he turned to face Cas.

“Hey. If anybody’s gotta know,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m glad it’s you, man.”

Cas gave him a smile, the kind that made Dean feel like his chest was caving in.

Dean ran his thumb over Cas’ lapel.

“Hey, uhm, Dean, was it?” came a voice from behind them.

“Yeah?” Dean said, dropping his hand as he turned.

Just his luck, it was Darren. The ghostly man of the hour himself, looking very much alive, if a bit nervous. And tired, considering the bags under his eyes.

“Did your dad...really teach you how to get rid of ghosts?” he said timidly.

“Yep,” Dean nodded.

‘Good, because I-I think there’s a ghost following me, and it’s _really_ freaking me out,” he blurted.

Dean looked over at Cas, and grinned. Leads didn't often drop into his lap, but... _damn_ it was nice when they did.

“Well," Dean said, clapping him on the back, "Lucky you ran into us, ain't it?"

**Author's Note:**

> Back again with another SPN fic! The title, and the narcolepsy tag, will make more sense as the chapters progress. I have ~~lore~~ planned for this fic. Anyway, I haven't written fake relationship before, but...these two seem to be absolutely made for the trope. Thanks for reading!


End file.
